


Iron Clad

by P4_34_M0



Category: Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: AU, Ancient History, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-04
Updated: 2017-10-04
Packaged: 2019-01-09 00:43:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12265434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/P4_34_M0/pseuds/P4_34_M0
Summary: When she was little, Jane loved hearing her father tell the stories of the Fay Council. About the beautiful Asari who guard the forests, and the cunning Salarians who haunt the swamps. The luminous Quarains who swam the sea, forever battling the golems of the Geth planes. But when the stories prove true and a Turian takes her as a spoil of war, not even iron clad armor can save her





	Iron Clad

**Author's Note:**

> So, my idea was that Turians would be kind of like dragons. Big, scary monsters that humans hunt for honor and glory. This is just the prologue BTW

Ever since she was little, Jane loved hearing her father tell the stories of the Fay Council, passed down from generations ago. Stories about the beautiful Asari who guarded the forests, and the cunning Salarians who haunted the swamps. Of the luminous Quarains who swam the sea, forever battling the stone golems of theGeth planes. The tinkering Volus, ferocious Vorcha, and dimwitted Elchor. No matter the story, no matter the hero, she loved them all.

But even among these fantastic races, who’s deeds and mischievous pranks oft cause the human hero’s to stumble, one stood out, playing through her mind at every second of every day.

The Turians. Massive beasts of war were they, taller then a man, stronger then an ox, and covered with natural armor that was stronger then steel. For hundreds of years Humanity had fought bitterly with these monstrosities, waging battle after battle. Bones were rumored to still littered the sands of the Pargonine wastes, where the final battle had been waged.

“-And there,” Her father continued, flashing him sword dramatically over the fire, “Humanity drove the daemons far- far! - up into the Morga Mountains, from whence they had never issued again.”

Ten year old Jane clapped her hands, laughing with delight. The harvest had been good that year, and so the tribe could once again afford to spend the nights awake and telling stories, as opposed to asleep in preparation for another day of grueling labor.

“Again,” She cried in delight, “Again, Papa!”

“Aye, little one,” He sighed, returning his sword to its scabbard, “The moon has passed it’s first quarter. It is time for sleep.”

Jane pouted, the brightened, “Will you tell me another story tomorrow night?”

“Yes kitten.”

Jane shouted in excitement, rushing away from the cooking fire to dive into their shared tent. The sounds of (fake) snoring soon followed. Her father chuckled, put a few logs on the fire, and settled down to sleep, staring into the crackling blaze. Tomorrow was another day on Tamoria, and gods be damned it he wasn’t ready for it.


End file.
